Shur'tugal
by fanf1ction
Summary: Forty years after the defeat of Galbatorix, Garrow, son of Roran, is chosen to take up the mantle of the Riders. Meanwhile, Eragon Shadeslayer is troubled by the unnamed shadow, and temporarily returns to Alagaesia in order to investigate. Eventual ExA
1. Leavetakings

**A/N: As an intelligent person might no doubt surmise, I am not CP and therefore do not own the Inheritance Cycle nor any of the characters or places which pertain to Paolini's universe. Garrow is an OC, and the first chapter is entirely from his POV. Second chapter will be out (hopefully) within a few days, and will be from Eragon's POV. This will be an ExA story, eventually, with Garrow being a main character. Reviews and contructive criticism are greatly appreciated.**

**WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT READ INHERITANCE BOOK FOUR, AS IT CONTAINS SPOILERS.**

_Story summary/blurb: Forty years after the defeat of Galbatorix, Garrow Roransson is chosen to take up the mantle of the Riders. Leaving behind his home and his family, Garrow travels to Ellesmera for the first stage of his training. Meanwhile, in the Riders lands just to the east of the Alagaesian border, Eragon Shadeslayer becomes troubled by rumours of an unnamed shadow threatening to bring and end to this golden age of peace and prosperity. Taking it upon himself to temporarily return to Alagaesia and deal with this threat, Eragon and Saphira set out to investigate the cause of these unknown disturbances with help from the apprentice Riders under their tutelage._

Croaking; creaking, the old carriage trundled its way along the eastbound road. Garrow Roransson, sitting opposite his father, examined the land outside the window, anxiously wringing his hands as he left his old life behind. The driver, Nolfavrell, was whistling a merry tune as they rode further and further away from the great city of Ceunon, towards the outskirts of the vast forests of Du Weldenvarden.

Garrow strongly resembled the men on his father's side of the family, with a mat of curly brown hair, inquisitive brown eyes and a solid build. He was half a head taller than his father, and just as broad of shoulder. Wearing travelling clothes of fine make as befitted his status as the son of an earl, he was the image of his uncle Eragon before he had left Carvahall in his youth, or so his parents told him.

Garrow remembered sombrely the morning; how he had been forced to say farewell to his mother, Katrina, and his beloved sisters. He was the youngest of four children, and the only son of his family. Despite his eighteen summers and the fact that he was a man grown, Garrow had been unable to prevent tears at their farewell. Where he was going, he knew, he was unlikely to ever see them again. His ageing mother, nearing the end of her sixth decade of life, had hugged him tightly after loading his pack on the top of the carriage. _You'll do us proud_, she had whispered fiercely, _there's nothing to fear. Remember who you are and what we taught you and you'll do us proud._ His sisters, who had each made the journey to Ceunon with their husbands in order to farewell him, had embraced him one after the other and wished him the best of luck while his father and Nolfavrell had patiently waited. Eventually, they could delay no longer.

"It's time, son. We can't keep her waiting for us. Just because she is likely to be late is no reason for us to be tardy ourselves."

So, tears still stinging down his face, Garrow had stepped into the rickety old carriage and away from his life as the heir to the earldom of Palancar Valley. Now, just a few hours later, Garrow had barely spoken a word and, as his father stretched his neck and ran a hand through his grey and receding hair, a snort and a soft growl filled the silence. Absentmindedly, Garrow reached out a hand to stroke the golden scaled dragon hatchling sleeping on his right hand side. Barely a few weeks old, and no bigger than a small dog, it was this dragon hatchling which had so drastically changed his life.

Yet Garrow felt no anger nor dislike towards this creature, who would be a permanent part of his life from the moment he hatched until the day he died. The bond that had been forged by the magic of the Rider's pact with the dragons had forever linked their fates, and Garrow had the overwhelming urge to do whatever was necessary to protect this helpless infant.

_Not helpless for long at this rate, _he thought as he remembered how small the hatchling had been when he had first touched it. In only two short weeks the dragon had grown half again as large as its original size. Looking at the young dragon now, with the sunlight entering from the window of the carriage giving his scales a resplendent, shimmering quality, Garrow felt a growing sense of excitement. He was going to become the stuff of legend; see the fabled forests of the elves, ride a ferocious dragon into battle to bring about peace and prosperity throughout the land. He would visit the Rider's fiefdoms in the eastern lands beyond Alagaesia, ruled over by his legendary uncle, Eragon Shadeslayer, and rumoured to be the most beautiful and plentiful lands in the entirety of the world. No more were the dreams he had of adventure and magic whilst living in dreary Carvahall simply dreams; he would live the life he had yearned for since he had been old enough to swing a sword.

Spurred by a sudden desire to know more about where he was going, Garrow looked towards his father.

"The woman we are going to meet. Did you know her well?" He asked.

"Arya?" replied Roran after a moment, "I suppose you might say I knew her better than most of the Varden, the rebel group which opposed the tyrant Galbatorix. Not well enough to call her a friend, certainly, but we fought together on many occasions during the war and there is a certain kinship that develops from such experiences."

"What is she like?"

"She lived for many years among humans as an ambassador for her race, so do not take what I have to say of her as the norm for all elves, but I will tell you what little I can." Roran's eyes took on a glazed look, and Garrow knew his father was no longer truly in the carriage with him, but reliving the memories of his time spent fighting against the oppressive rule of the mad King Galbatorix. "It has been a little over forty years since last I spoke to her, you understand, so I cannot be sure that she hasn't changed, but when I knew her she was a fierce warrior. Ruthless and beautiful, she looked not much older than you do now, perhaps in her early twenties, but don't let that deceive you. She was over a century old even then."

"A hundred! Surely that's impossible. How could she possibly look like you describe and be over a hundred years old?" Garrow's father gave him a stern look in reprimand for his shocked outburst. "Sorry father; please continue."

"Elves, like dragons, are a race with magic running through their blood. They are immortal unless physically killed, whether by a blade, magic or some incurable malady of the flesh..." Roran paused, seeming unsure of whether to continue, and then spoke. "Dragon Riders, like elves and like their dragons, are also immortal."

Garrow sat in a stunned silence. He was immortal now? Never to die, to live on through the ages, his friends and allies, those he loved, all ageing and dying around him, seemed a very sad existence.

Roran cleared his throat, clearly feeling awkward with the sudden silence of the carriage. "In any case, if you have questions you should direct them at your teachers, as I'm quite sure I know almost as little as you do about what being a Rider entails."

Garrow nodded in acknowledgement, and asked his father to continue answering his original question.

"Of course, Arya, what to say... She had an aloof personality; seemed to have few friends even among the other elves. In fact I'd go so far as to say that the only person she appeared to have a genuine affection for was your uncle, Eragon. I imagine that being the only member of her race living among humans for more than seven decades made her that way. Her reputation as a warrior during the rebellion was second only to Eragon himself. She earned the title Shadeslayer at the Siege of Feinster, securing our victory over the city, and it was her whom slew the black dragon Shruikan during the final battle at Uru'Baen, which is of course now Ilirea once more.

"After the war, she took the remaining dragon egg from the dead King's vault in order to ferry it between the races as she had done previously for the dragon Saphira's egg, but it hatched for her. Her mother, the elvish Queen, died during the last battle, and Arya became Queen in her place, which has been a contentious decision among the other monarchs in Alagaesia, who felt that it was inappropriate for a Dragon Rider to also be the ruler of a nation, as Galbatorix had been. It has caused no little amount of tension, regardless of the fact that all elves are as long-living as Dragon Riders, but I feel that Nasuada and Orik, the dwarf King, trust Arya enough not to abuse her power as a Rider in order to further the elves cause..." Roran trailed off while Garrow retreated into his own thoughts.

Not long later, Nolfavrell slowed their journey to a halt and declared that they had arrived at the assigned meeting place. Garrow stepped down from the carriage and looked towards the sun, trying to judge the hour. What he saw troubled him. They had arrived at least an hour later than midday, the chosen time, yet there was no sign of the elvish Queen, who would be Garrow's first tutor, until his as yet unnamed dragon was old enough to make the flight to the lands beyond Alagaesia, where Eragon and the other four Riders that had been chosen since the defeat of Galbatorix made their home.

Garrow stretched his cramped muscles and tried not to worry as his father exited the carriage gingerly. He personally would have preferred to ride in the saddle himself rather than spend hours in a wooden box, but his father had a strange aversion to riding on horseback, despite the fact that most of his spare time went towards breeding the bloodline of horses which were his pride and glory, descendant from a stallion which he often told Garrow of, who had been ridden across Alagaesia by his uncle during his many adventures. Garrow heard his father cursing Arya for being late behind him.

"Damn elves, no sense of timing. World moves so slowly to them, she probably won't show up 'til next week..."

Garrow heard Nolfavrell laugh loudly and tease his father about his impatience, but paid little attention as he sensed the dragon in the carriage wake up. A moment later, the dragon sent a feeling of hunger towards him and was at his side, nudging his leg with it's snout.

"Yes, yes, alright. Be patient; you only ate an hour ago." Garrow absently took a few strips of meat he had wrapped up in his pocket and dropped them to the ground for the insistent dragon. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to meet Roran's eyes.

"You ok, son?"

"Just a little nervous", Garrow replied, looking at the ground and shifting his feet.

"Do you remember the elvish greeting I taught you?"

"Yes, father."

"Right." Roran glanced towards Nolfavrell, and then raised his other hand so that he was grasping Garrow by both shoulders. "Listen closely, son. I know you won't want me to embarrass you in front of your new teachers, so I'll say my piece and my goodbye now, before they arrive. You have it in you to be everything that the Riders of old were. You are compassionate, clever, and a good man. Nobody can ask for more in their child, and know this; I am proud of you. You and your dragon will make the world a better place for everyone. Remember the values you were taught at home, and never let anyone make you do something which goes against your conscience. You will do well." There was a shine in his eyes, and Garrow knew his father was holding back tears.

"Will I see you again?" he asked, voice full of emotion.

"Just under a year from now, the great competitions which Eragon created before he left are being held in Hedarth. If my health permits the journey, I will accompany Queen Nasuada as a part of her retinue, and I have no doubt that the Riders will all be present, seeing as Hedarth is so close to their lands, on the borders of Alagaesia. We may well see each other then." Upon saying this Roran pulled Garrow into a fierce bear hug, to which Garrow responded in kind.

They spent the next two hours joking and laughing as Nolfavrell regaled them with stories of his journies as a young man to the Beor Mountains and Surda, while the golden scaled dragon hummed lightly as it lay in Garrow's lap. All three of the men continuously glanced towards the sky and the line imposing pine trees which marked the edge of Du Weldenvarden, searching for any sign of the elven Queen. Garrow became increasingly nervous as he wondered whether the elf would show up at all.

Then, half an hour later, the golden dragon lifted his head and stared skywards, while a dull _thud_ began to resonate in the air, growing louder each second. Nolfavrell, looking eastward, muttered under his breath.

"Finally."

Garrow himself sat, mouth agape, totally speechless, as a _massive_ emerald green dragon landed twenty feet away from them.

_He's...he's a monster. He's huge. Will my dragon grow that large?_ Garrow thought as he watched the huge head of the dragon turn towards them, letting loose a growl which sounded like the roar of the Igualda Falls near Carvahall, and examining them with eyes of vast intelligence.

It was only after seeing the movement of her dismounting in the corner of his eye that Garrow noticed the Rider. His father's description of her did little justice. He had called her beautiful, but that did nothing to prepare Garrow for the vision before him. Tall, with raven black hair, she did indeed look to be a woman in her early twenties, though her emerald eyes belied this fact, filled as they were with the wisdom of nearly a century and a half of experience. There was an exotic quality to her angled face and pointed ears, as well as her garb. She was the first woman Garrow had ever seen wearing pants. The black leather fitted snugly to her form, leaving little to the imagination. Garrow felt himself flushing as the elf caught him staring at her. As he averted his eyes, Garrow noticed the sword strapped to her right hip. It was slim and long, with a hand-and-a-half handle which would suit a grip of one or both hands, and had an emerald jewel encased in its pommel.

With feline grace, Arya strode towards them. Despite the size and obvious ferocity of the great dragon, Garrow could not help but feel that Arya was by far the more dangerous of the pair.

_He crows like a rooster_, thought Garrow, _but she stalks like a true hunter._

She stood before them, cocking an eyebrow at him, and Garrow belatedly found his manners, remembering the elvish greeting he had been taught. Twisting an arm over his sternum in a gesture of respect, he spoke.

"Atra esterni ono thelduin."

The corner of Arya's lips quirked upwards in a small show of amusement before she replied.

"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr. You must be Garrow." She turned and was greeted by Roran and Nolfavrell in similar fashion. Then she spoke to Garrow's father. "Stronghammer. It has been longer than I thought, or so your years tell me. How is your wife?"

"Katrina is well, thank you. The years have been far kinder to you than they have been to me. You look hardly a day older than you were."

She regarded him quizzically. "What did you expect?"

Roran seemed to find her response to be some sort of joke, for he laughed heartily.

"Forgive; most human women enjoy being told that they look youthful. I was only trying to be polite."

"Ah. Have you grown eloquent, Roran Stronghammer? I seem to remember you were never one for pleasantries." She favoured him with a wan smile, and they spent a few minutes catching up while Garrow and Nolfavrell waited silently. After sniffing at Arya's left hand, the palm of which held the silvery shimmer of the gedwey ignasia, similarly to Garrows right hand, the golden dragon had moved towards his elder and began playfully butting the forelegs of the emerald scaled behemoth.

Eventually, Arya glanced at the position of the sun in the sky and declared, "We had best take our leave. We have tarried too long already." She gave a nod of farewell to Roran and inclined her head politely to Nolfavrell, then moved towards the dragons.

Nolfavrell grasped Garrow's forearm and pulled him into a rough embrace, wishing him well. Turning towards his father, Garrow suddenly felt the poignancy of this goodbye. Roran embraced him son one final time, and bid him farewell.

"Good luck, lad. I'll no doubt see you in a year's time, eh?" Roran clapped him on the back and moved the old carriage. All too soon, it was once again trundling its way down the road towards Ceunon, and Garrow felt incredibly alone.

Steeling himself after a moment, Garrow turned and made his way towards where Arya and the dragons awaited him. The green dragon looked at him with its golden eyes, full of wisdom and experience, and Garrow suddenly felt the touch of a vast consciousness on his mind.

_Greeting, hatchling-Rider-Garrow, I am Firnen_, the dragon spoke, his mental voice of the deepest timbre Garrow had ever heard.

_I am honoured to meet you, Great One_, Garrow replied.

The dragon regarded him for a moment, and then gave a hum of approval. Garrow felt a growing sense of apprehension; what if he wasn't good enough, what if he failed in his training and brought shame to his family? As if sensing his uneasiness, Arya gave him and encouraging look.

"Are you ready, Garrow, son of Roran?" she asked.

Garrow looked west, towards where his father's carriage had gone over a small hill and out of sight.

_Am I ready? _He thought as he picked up his dragon hatchling and stared into its golden eyes. It cocked its head at him, and he felt the touch of its mind.

_Our fate... _A distinctly male voice spoke into his mind, and Garrow's eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time the dragon had spoken. Garrow felt his nervously beating heart slow, and squared his shoulders, meeting Arya's eyes.

"Yes", he said, "We are ready."

An odd flash of something crossed her eyes... recognition? After regarding him for a long moment, she replied.

"You know, Garrow... I really think you are."

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the first chapter, even though nothing really important happened, but i thought it important to introduce Garrow properly. The dragon (or the author) will choose to name himself at some stage, but probably not next chapter, as Garrow is not likely to be in it.**

**Feel free to drop a review, seeing as this is my first time writing fanfiction.**


	2. Red Tidings on Red Wings

_**A/N: Here comes chapter two, from Eragon's POV. Hope you enjoy.**_

_**My warmest and heartfelt thanks to all of you who were kind enough to review. It was very encouraging to receive such a wonderful response to the first chapter of this story.**_

__**Anyone who thinks I own the Inheritance Cycle probably isn't that intelligent. On a side note, I noticed a couple of intrusive grammatical errors in the first chapter, so I decided to actually edit this one. Hopefully I didn't miss anything glaringly obvious.**

_In truth, there is no such thing as death, nor separation, for those we cherish are always with us. _So thought Eragon, as he gazed out the window of his chambers in the fort which served to house the Riders and elves who lived with him in the lands to the east of Alagaesia.

Somewhere out there, he knew; across miles and miles of grassy steppes; over the waters of the Edda River and in the middle of the enchanted forests of Du Weldenvarden, his nephew was being drilled by Arya in the fundamental precepts of their Order. Not for the first time that day, Eragon wished he was with them.

_No, _he corrected himself; _you only wish they were with you._ And he knew it was true, for he had grown to love this place which had become his home. Even so, he often found himself thinking of another place he had once called home; of friends and family he had left behind. Eragon blinked, trying to remove himself from his melancholy mood, and turned his attention back to the scrying mirror sitting on his desk, just as a silver haired elf stepped into view.

"Greetings, Shadeslayer. Atra esterni ono thelduin" the elf greeted him with two fingers pressed to his lips.

"Lord Dathedr. Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr." Eragon smiled warmly at the elf. It was good to see him, he realised, as he felt Dathedr to be a man of honour and one of very few elves Eragon could trust to speak honestly and bluntly.

"My apologies, Shadeslayer. The Queen is testing your nephew's skills with a sword, and is unavailable at this time."

"I will wait for her, Dathedr. I'm sure she shan't be long; he's only human, after all."

Dathedr nodded in acquiescence, and told Eragon that he would inform Arya of his desire to speak with her the moment she returned from the training grounds. Left alone once again with his thoughts, Eragon expanded his consciousness and examined the world around him.

What he felt troubled him. The last few times he had scryed the land, Eragon had felt uneasy. There was a growing restlessness in the world, a sense of something shifting in the dark, dormant for the last forty years and only now coming to life.

Eragon shivered as a tingle of fear crept down his spine. _Storm's coming,_ he thought as he looked out his window towards the ominous clouds gathering on the horizon. _In more ways than one._

Saphira's thoughts brushed his from where she sat in the courtyard, watching Yarbog and Ivaldn; two of his Riders, spar. '_Rid yourself of these dark musings, little one',_ she said, '_they serve no purpose but to make your mood foul. We will deal with whatever dangers might arise when they do so, and not before. We cannot fight our enemies before they reveal themselves.'_

'_You are right, Saphira, as always', _Eragon replied. '_I have been spending far too much time in my own head lately. There has been little to occupy my time since only Alanna has yet to finish her training and I finished all of the books in Tenga's library.'_

In his mind, Saphira snorted with amusement. '_That old hermit is as mad as a hatter', _she said.

Eragon smiled to himself as he remembered the surprise he had felt when, only two years after settling in the area, he had discovered the hermit Tenga established in one of the spare chambers of the fort, which he had constructed with magic and the help of both the Eldunari and the elves who had accompanied him. Mouth agape, Eragon had stumbled into a room full of piles and piles of tomes and scrolls, with a bench covered with odd looking beakers and other strange apparatus, to find Tenga scurrying about, muttering to himself in that half-crazed way he had. The hermit kept exclusively to his own company, but had allowed Eragon the use of his library.

From that library, as well as from the Eldurnari who were kept in a vault below the keep, Eragon had learned a great deal during the years since he had left Alagaesia; philosophy; science; history; magic and much about the cultures of all the races which inhabited the land. Constant practice and sparring had allowed him to nurture his skills with the sword and a variety of other weapons; the physical exercise giving him great enjoyment. After the first thunder of dragon hatchlings had been raised, they had spread far and wide, and needed no more help from the elves or Eragon in order to raise their young. Thankfully, the dragons left alone the crop of small villages that had been established in the land between Hedarth and Eragon's fort, named The Roost by the people of the small town that surrounded it on account of the fact that it served as home to the Riders and their dragons.

The people of these villages had followed Eragon after he left Alagaesia, often seeking simply to live under the protection of the Riders. Others had left the Empire in order to get away from the chaos and destruction caused by the war against Galbatorix, and more still were poor folk looking to create better lives for themselves. Regardless of how they came to be there, however, they had one thing in common; all of them looked to Eragon for guidance, _demanding_ that he govern them. Despite persistent pressure, Eragon had refused.

_It is not right, _he thought, _for mortal men and women to be ruled over by one of the undying._ The way that these people revered; giving him almost godlike status, had mortified him, reminding him of the Ra'zac and the religious fervour of the priests of Helgrind. _I will not become a monster._

Instead, Eragon had simply offered them the protection and justice of the Riders. He encouraged each township to appoint a leader by vote, with courts established by the common people to trial criminals, and the promise that the Riders would carry out whatever sentence that those courts might provide. This compromise had almost backfired when his popularity actually _rose_ due to the fact that he was seen as giving the people concessions by allowing them so much control over their own governance, as though they hadn't followed him to this land of their own free will.

_People can be so... frustrating, sometimes._

A gentle knock on the door of his chambers startled Eragon out of his reverie and he stiffened in his chair, suddenly sure he was about to receive news which would not make him happy.

"Enter", he called out cautiously.

Into his rooms strode a strikingly beautiful elf woman; Alanna, the most recent addition to the Riders, discounting Garrow. Black hair framed her angled face, falling only to her shoulders, short for most women. Her blue eyes, normally soft, had a hard edge to them, and her mouth was set in a thin line. By her posture and expression, Eragon knew this was no social visit.

"What news?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"The village court found the farmhand, Hector, guilty of raping the elder's daughter. They have sentenced him to death." Her tone was bitter.

Eragon felt a tinge of sadness for the man. He knew Hector; had spoken to him on occasion, and more than suspected that the young girl claiming to be a victim was only trying to save her own reputation by saying she had been forced. Hector was not the kind of man who would turn criminal. Unfortunately for Eragon, and indeed most unfortunately for Hector, the court had refused to accept an examination of the minds of those involved as evidence, due to Eragon's friendly acquaintance with Hector, and Eragon knew that he had made a promise to carry out the justice decided by the people. Eragon would have to kill a man he thought could be innocent; there was no way around it.

Eragon sighed, and held his head in his hands, leaning upon his desk.

"When do they want me?" he asked.

"As soon as you are available; they want the whole ordeal over with as quickly as possible... Are you really going to do it? He never seemed like the kind of person who... and that girl is rumoured to be a total strumpet... Is this justice?"

Eragon carefully considered his words before speaking. "What is or isn't justice is not for us to decide; that we leave to the people. We cannot afford to impose our own will on them; for it is a path will lead only to tyranny, such as the Empire experienced under Galbatorix's rule. I made a vow to carry out their justice, and they have decided that Hector must die. My personal opinion of the man cannot be allowed to get in the way of my duty to uphold the laws and decisions of the people. I..." he sighed again, "I have to kill him."

Eragon felt a consoling hand on his shoulder, as Alanna saw his distress.

"Ebrithil... you don't need to do this yourself. I'm sure Yarbog could-"

"No." He cut her off, "Yarbog made no promises, and this is a matter to concern humans, not urgals. Besides, think of Hector. Would he really prefer to be hacked to death by someone not of his own race? I will do as I must."

Eragon noticed movement in the scrying mirror, and then saw Arya step into view. He turned back to Alanna.

"Tell them to make ready. When I am done here, I will perform this unsavoury task they ask of me."

"Nen ono weohnata, Ebrithil." As you wish, Master. Alanna left the room, walking with the lithe grace worn only by the members of her race.

Eragon ran a hand through his hair, forced a smile to his face, and turned to give Arya the traditional elven greeting. She was sitting now; she looked to be in the antechamber of some hall or another; most likely Tialdari Hall, her house's ancient seat.

"You seem troubled", she said, her brow furrowed with concern. "Is everything alright?"

"It's nothing, I..."

"It's not nothing, Eragon, or you would not be so worried. Tell me; perhaps I can help."

"Just the sound of your voice is help enough, Arya." The words slipped out before he could stop them, and Eragon felt a heat rise in his cheeks.

She smiled at him; one of those smiles which so accentuated her beauty that even four decades after meeting her, Eragon's heart was set frantically beating within the confines of his chest. He decided then that, despite all of his recent troubles, perhaps this day wasn't all that bad after all.

"In any case," he continued, "There is nothing you can do for it. I am to fulfil the role of executioner after we part ways."

"Ah", she said, emerald eyes full of sympathy. "That is indeed cause to be gloomy..." She lapsed into silence for moment, a serious looking replacing the carefree smile she had previously worn. "I apologise for being late; your nephew has your determination to excel with the blade. No matter how many times he was defeated, he never gave up. It is a commendable quality, one which seems to be a common trait in your family."

"Indeed", Eragon inclined his head towards her in acknowledgment of her roundabout compliment. "And how does young Garrow's initiation progress?"

"Better than I had expected; he attacks his challenges with fervour, shows talent with a sword, and is very well educated for his race; he speaks almost fluently in the Urgal tongue."

"Urgal? ... I suppose that makes a kind of sense; he grew up on the edge of the spine, and no doubt Palancar has done a steady trade with their tribes since the end of the war"

"Would that he was fluent in the ancient language;" she pursed her lips in amusement, "You should have heard him butcher the greeting when we first met."

Eragon laughed heartily. "Too much time spent speaking in grunts, I suppose. And how is Firnen?"

"He is well. I think he is becoming frustrated with the dragon hatchling, though. They have been in Ellesmera nearly three weeks, and the hatchling holds an entire conversation now, but still refuses to choose a name for himself. Garrow threatened to simply give him a name, but the stubborn youngling won't budge."

"Determination and Stubbornness; a fit pair." Eragon felt a tingling in his gedwey ignasia, and shivered as the winds changed direction abruptly, sending cold air into his chambers through the open window. Feeling suddenly tense, he closed the window with a spell.

"What's the matter, Eragon?" asked Arya, noticing his change in mood.

"The wind changed direction is all; it was cold. Everything seems to set me on edge these days."

"Why is that?"

Eragon was quiet for a moment before he replied. "When I've scryed the land recently, I've had a strange sense of impending doom; as if times are about to change for the worse. Everywhere there is restlessness and uneasiness. Dark memories haunt my dreams; of Durza, of fighting in the war; of blood and death... I can't help but feel as if there's something _out there_, some unnamed shadow, stirring to life. I don't know... perhaps I'm simply paranoid."

Arya frowned. "I think I know some of what you speak; I too have been restless of late. I thought perhaps I was simply getting bored of living quietly in Ellesmera, but perhaps there is more to it... Listen, Eragon; the land will speak to those who have ears to listen. I trust your instincts and your judgement; if you believe something is wrong in Alagaesia, I would not simply discount it."

"Thank you. Your trust means more to me than you know."

Her brow was furrowed now; she was deep in thought. "I will scry the forests more often, though I doubt I will discover anything of use to you. You should communicate with Nasuada and Orik; perhaps they have noticed something off-kilter within their realms."

"I shall indeed do that." Eragon shivered again; why was it so cold?

If Arya noticed, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she glanced towards something or someone nearby, and frowned in annoyance.

"I fear I must leave; the nobles are gathering in Tialdari Hall and will be expecting me."

Eragon wished they could talk longer, though he did not say so. "I too am being waited upon. We should speak again soon; I will want to be kept up to date on the younglings' progress."

She glanced around again, as if to be sure she was alone, and then spoke his true name in farewell. Eragon smiled, and mouthed Arya's true name in response, then ended the spell which had allowed them to speak through the mirrors.

Glancing around his sparsely adorned chambers, Eragon spotted his sword, Brisingr, propped up against the bare stone wall on the other side of his small cot. Retrieving the sapphire blade and belting it on, Eragon gave his room a final examination before leaving, closing the polished wooden door softly behind him.

'_Hardly the kind of chambers one would expect the Head of the Riders to keep', _he commented to Saphira. '_Though I suppose I have always been more about practicality, and I still think of myself more as a farm boy than a Lord.'_

'_Nests are made for sleeping in', _she replied simply. '_Scales are made to sparkle and look pretty. Use them for their assigned purposes; to do otherwise would be foolish.'_

Eragon made his way down the windowless corridor, which was kept alight by the elves' ever-burning lamps. Here and there were fairths hanging from the walls; images the elves had created to remind them of home and make the imposing stone seem less dreary. There were various pictures of Du Weldenvarden, including one which depicted the Crags of Tel'naer, where Eragon had been trained in the ways of the Rider. The elves spent much of their free time trying to improve the look and feel of The Roost; Eragon personally had no interest in it. If the elves wished to indulge their vanity, he would not stop them, but neither could he be bothered to help them. His only concessions had been the fairths of Roran and Arya he had created to sit on his desk, as well as a small wooden carving that resembled Saphira which he occasionally worked on if he had a spare moment. Most of his time, though, went towards practical ends.

Turning at the end of the corridor, Eragon made his way down three flights of stairs and stepped into the entrance hall of the keep. Stone statues of each dragon who had hatched for a rider since the creation of the new Order lined the path which lead to a raised table at the end of the hall. At that table were a set of throne-like chairs; one for each Rider. The largest throne, set at the head of the table, belonged to Eragon. He found the gaudiness of the entire affair to be rather distasteful, but knew that the elves were right when they said that appearances mattered. If the Riders wanted their authority respected, they must look as if they were people of authority.

Eragon admired the statue of Saphira as he walked past it. Each of the statues was incredibly lifelike; detailed down to individual scales and coloured through use of magic. It looked as though the dragons were actually present within the hall, providing an impressive and fearsome spectacle. Eragon had been astounded by the craftsmanship of the elf Yaela, who had carved each statue by hand after acquiring the right kind of stone.

As he exited the building and descended the steps to the courtyard, Eragon felt the cold which was even more intense outside.

_I should have worn a cloak_, he berated himself.

Then it began to rain.

_Pathetic fallacy._ A grim thought.

Eragon moved to his right, where a large group of over a hundred villagers had gathered around a temporarily erected executioners block. Hector the farmhand was being restrained beside the block; his arms held behind his back by two village men. When he reached the block and was stood beside Hector, Eragon addressed the crowd.

"Get the children out of the courtyard, please. They should not have to see this."

_We lose our innocence, the first time we see a man die. We realise, then, that life isn't like the stories; all honour and glory._ Eragon seemed unable to shake his melancholy mood.

There was movement among the crowd, and five or so protesting young boys and girls were lead away by concerned parents.

_Why were they even here in the first place?_ Wondered Eragon. _Sometimes people just don't think before they act._

A sadness settled in Eragon's heart as he turned towards Hector, Brisingr seeming to weigh more than a mountain where it was sheathed on his side.

"If you have any final words to say, now is the time", he said kindly.

Hector seemed resigned to his fate. "Just get it over with", he said dejectedly, and knelt to lay his head on the block.

_Such a waste of a life, _thought Eragon sorrowfully. He drew Brisingr resting the sword point down in the dirt, his hands on the pommel.

"Hector, son of Farrick, you have been accused and found guilty of rape and violent assault. In accordance with the laws of these lands, you were sentenced to death." The rain was a downpour now, great sheets of it soaking Eragon and chilling him to the bone. "In the name of justice, I, Eragon; son of Brom; Shadeslayer; Kingslayer and Head of the Dragon Riders hereby carry out that sentence."

Eragon shifted his hands to grip Brisingr firmly and swung his blade in a wide arc, knowing that the only gift he could give Hector would be a single, clean blow. He didn't miss.

Eragon turned and slowly walked away, making for the far side of the courtyard, where Saphira lay, flanked by Yarbog, Alanna and the dwarf Rider Ivaldn. The only one missing was his first apprentice; Vanir had gone to Hedarth with his dragon Opheila to mediate a trade negotiation between the Dwarves and the city-state. They cut forlorn, dejected figures in the rain. Only Yarbog seemed unaffected by what he had just witnessed. Eragon wiped his brow, suddenly so weary that he felt he might collapse.

'_Oh, little one... do not let this weigh on your conscience overmuch', _Saphira told him.

'_I may have just committed murder', _he replied.

'_That man was not judged by you, Eragon, his death is not your burden to bear.' _Her voice was stern; reprimanding. '_For all you know, he was guilty anyway. Do not question your own decision to let the people rule themselves; you were right to do so. Hector's trial, whether fair or foul, was their affair, not ours.'_

'_Perhaps you are right', _he conceded.

She snorted. '_I am always right; you have said so yourself.'_

Eragon shook his head at her arrogance, so typical of a dragon, and sheathed Brisingr; for it had been washed clean in the rain. Turning his head slightly, he saw that the crowd of villagers had quickly dispersed, taking Hector's body with them to bury.

Just before he reached Saphira's side, Eragon felt a pair of minds he knew well approaching swiftly from the north. A glance towards the sky confirmed his suspicions.

'_It's Thorn and Murtagh!' _He exulted to Saphira.

Over the time they had lived at The Roost, Thorn and Murtagh had often visited during their travels, but never settled for more than a few months at a time. In the distance, Eragon could see the crimson scaled dragon fighting through the wind and rain, wine-coloured wings flapping strongly.

Soon after, Thorn alighted a few yards away and Eragon rushed forward to greet his brother. The great dragon's chest heaved with the exertion of his flight, and gouts of steam flowed from his nostrils into the freezing cold air.

As Murtagh jumped down from the saddle on Thorn's back, Eragon wrapped him in an embrace. When he stepped back though, he noticed the grim expression on his brother's face and was filled with dread as he realised that, once again, he was about to receive harrowing news.

"What has happened?" He asked with trepidation.

Murtagh ran a hand through his messy brown hair before responding in a bleak tone.

"We are the bearers of tragic news, I fear. Not just over an hour ago we went to visit friends of ours; a pair of dragons who were nesting. They were... they were dead when we arrived; they had been killed by magic."

An overwhelming feeling of desolation and hopelessness clutched at Eragon's heart. "Murdered..."

Saphira's mournful keening filled the shocked silence that Murtagh's news had created. Thorn let loose a roar of terrible rage and anger.

Eragon felt Murtagh's hand on his shoulder.

"There is more, brother. I said the dragons were nesting; they had three eggs."

Eragon dropped to one knee, supporting himself with one hand on the muddy earth, enveloped by the futility of the situation.

"Were they... were they killed? Shattered?" he asked in a dull monotone.

Murtagh's reply was slow in coming. "No", he said, "It is worse than that. They were taken."

A suspicion that had been forming itself within Eragon's mind hardened into a cold certainty. He remembered vaguely the odd feeling in his gedwey ignasia and the strange change in the wind he had felt during his conversation with Arya, and realised that even then he had known something terrible had happened.

'_You were right', _Saphira said, '_our unknown enemy has made his first move. There will be a reckoning for this.'_

Her anger fuelled him, filling Eragon with blinding fury at those who had commited this treachery.

_So it begins._

__**A/N: Any reviews or constructive criticism you kind souls are willing to give would be greatly appreciated. Next chapter will probably take a lil' longer to come out, due to the fact that I have many, many exams this week. :(**

**This chapter was pretty dark and ominous in tone compared to chapter one. Not sure whose POV to do for the next chapter yet, but most likely it will be Garrow again.**

**Bye now.**


	3. Of Walls and Werecats

**A/N: Hey guys, it's been longer than expected. Originally I decided this chapter was meant to be split point of view with three segments, two for Eragon and one for Garrow. As it is, the chapter became so large (8000 words without having written the third part yet) that i decided I would need to split it.**

**If the third part is short enough, I will tag it on to the end of the next chapter, but at this stage that seems unlikely. So, the next chapter is going to be from Garrow's POV and will probably be out within the next 24-48 hours.**

**A note on the ExA part of the story: I intended to have Eragon come back to Alagaesia around chapter seven, but as I look at my chapter outlines, I think I might be lucky to have that happen within the first 10 chapters. There will be interaction between them before Eragon goes to Alagaesia, but the real ExA stuff won't start for a while. Sorry about that; I hope you will stick with the story to that point.**

**I recently discovered that I can actually reply to your reviews! Apparently I have had this account since 2008, but I've never used it, so I don' really know what I'm doing most of the time. Anyway, I promise that I will try to reply to as many of your reviews as possible, and I really appreciate you guys taking the time to give your opinions on this story**

**(also, the more reviews the story has, the more likely it is to get new readers, so reviews will mean I bake you a batch of imaginary cookies!)**

**A couple of reviews though Eragon executing that dude last chapter was questionable, so at the end I'll explain why I had him do it (It's to long to put up here)**

Eragon descended swiftly down flight after flight of stone steps, moving deep into the bowels of the earth. He was within the heart of The Roost, spiralling ever downwards beneath the keep. There were no decorations on the walls here, nor was there much light emitted from the few elvish lamps dotting the walls; this was a sacred place for the Riders, a place which could not be defiled by the presence of those who were not members of the Order.

Faster and faster, Eragon continued his desperate descent; somehow sure that everything would be alright if he could only reach his destination in time. High above in the courtyard, Saphira waited with Murtagh, Thorn and his apprentices for his return. The only one of his apprentices who knew of the place he sought was Vanir, who was away from The Roost, but Murtagh and Saphira both understood his desire to visit the place deep beneath the keep; the very soul of the Dragon Riders' Order.

The floor began to level out in front of Eragon; he was no longer moving down steps, but running down a narrow hallway. The lighting was such that Eragon knew no person aside from a Rider or an elf would be able to see anything but pitch black now.

The floor sloped downward once more, and Eragon was running on an angle towards the core of the world. Every so often, there was a sharp turn in the corridor; Eragon was running in a square pattern, but so long as he continued to descend, he paid no mind to it. The bare stone walls of the narrow corridors created a sense of claustrophobia within him; he felt confined and short of breath, as though he had been buried alive.

Eventually, the sloping series of passages came to an abrupt end, and in front of Eragon stood a blank stone wall, cutting off his path. He had arrived. Eragon raised his hand and placed his bare palm, his right one, against the wall. In a clear voice, he stated his true name. A vertical crack appeared in the wall, running up and down the middle of it. Out of the crack poured a bright white light, blinding Eragon temporarily. The secret doorway parted, granting Eragon passage into the hidden vault which lay beneath The Roost.

Eragon stepped forward into a massive, well lit chamber. On stone shelves lining the sides of the chamber which rose as high as thirty feet to the roof of the vault, hundreds of Eldurnari were nestled. At the centre of the room, standing in front of a magically lit brazier, was the guardian Cuaroc in his polished metal body, the head in the shape of a dragons'. He wore a segmented loincloth made of the same metal as the rest of his body; in his left hand he held a metal shield and in his right the iridescent sword of a Rider. Eragon knew that enclosed within Cuaroc's metallic chest was a large purple Eldurnari.

The vault had been built even before The Roost was created on top of it. Eragon had been guided by the Eldurnari in the spells needed to create a hidden place similar to that on Vroengard for the Eldurnari to reside in. Their protection had been his primary purpose when leaving Alagaesia; along with the raising of the new dragon hatchlings.

Eragon took a deep breath to calm himself after his mad rush down the stairs beneath The Roost, and then called out to the elder dragons.

"Old Ones! 'Tis I, Eragon; the Riders are in need of your guidance and wisdom once more."

The vault was eerily silent. Cuaroc turned to face Eragon, leaning upon his sword, point down in the ground. Then Eragon felt the familiar presence of Cumaroth, the great white dragon, touch his mind.

'_Such a terrible tragedy which has befallen us', _Cumaroth bemoaned. '_And under our very noses. This crime cannot be allowed to go unpunished, Eragon.'_

'_I know, Old One; yet what can I do. We know nothing of these strange enemies, nor of the darkness stirring within Alagaesia. That is why I have come here; to seek your guidance and wisdom in these matters.'_

It was Glaedr, this time, who spoke. '_You should have come to us before these evil events occurred, Eragon. It is your duty to protect the dragons!'_

His comments roused Eragon's anger. _'If you knew something, Ebrithil, _you _should have reached out to me!'_

'_Enough; this arguing is pointless.' _Cumaroth's voice cut through Eragon's emotions, calming him.

'_I apologise for my outburst, Ebrithil. It was rude of me to infer that you allowed these murders to happen.'_

'_There is no one to blame for this but the evil beings who committed the foul act, Eragon.' _Cumaroth said. _'All we could have told you was what you already felt; there is a dark force stirring within Alagaesia, some terrible blight threatening to sow chaos throughout the world. We did not contact you with our concerns because it is not our place to question the actions of the Head of the Riders; only to offer our advice when it is asked for.'_

Eragon was suitably cowed. _'I should have come to you with my fears, Old Ones. I have failed in my duty as a Rider.'_

'_Do not worry over the past, Eragon; no matter how much we might wish to, it cannot be changed. We can, however, save the future through our actions on this day. You are here now; that is all that truly matters.'_

'_What must we do, Master?'_

'_You must have Murtagh return you to the nest of the slain dragons, and use your magic to search for clues as to who the attackers were. After much deliberation, we have decided that we will all accompany you.' _Cumaroth's words shocked Eragon.

'_Master, the Eldurnari should remain here, safe within the vault! It would be too dangerous to for you to leave this place with our enemies still unknown to us.'_

'_Peace, Eragon; the Eldurnari will not be leaving the Vault of Souls.' _said Glaedr.

'_Then how do you plan to accompany me?' _Eragon wondered.

It was Cumaroth who replied. _'Over the past few weeks, we have developed a spell in anticipation of a situation such as this arising. This spell will serve to use your ring as a conduit to link our minds regardless of the distance separating you from us. In this fashion, you will be able to make use of our energy and mental powers while we remain safe here. It will also allow us to be present with you at all times, so that we might give you the advice you will need to overcome the challenges ahead.'_

It only took Eragon a moment to consider the solution put forward by the Eldurnarya.

'_Very well, Old Ones; what is the wording of this spell?'_

Cumaroth spoke a few lines in the ancient language and, once he was satisfied that Eragon had memorised them, the spell was cast. Eragon quested towards Aren with his mind, and found himself in mental contact with Cumaroth and Glaedr and through them, hundreds of Eldurnari.

'_It seems to have worked', _he said.

'_Then go swiftly, Eragon Shadeslayer, for you might yet catch up to our enemies; I doubt that they flew away from the scene of their crime.'_

Eragon sprinted from the vault, barely aware of the stone door closing behind him, and began his ascent to the surface.

After emerging from the hidden doorway which led to the stairs below the keep, Eragon found himself in the main hall of The Roost and stopped to catch his breath.

_Running up a hill is slightly more taxing than going down, _he thought wryly.

Eragon walked past the life-like dragon statues and out the front doors of the building. He made his way towards the group of dragons and Riders who awaited him, noting that the rain had stopped while he had visited the Eldurnari.

_That's odd; it looked to go on for hours. I haven't been that long._

As well as Saphira and Thorn, a brown scaled dragon was now sitting in the courtyard with the group of Riders. Her scales were the same texture as mud, and Eragon thought that she was probably the ugliest dragon he had seen, though he would never tell her that. She was Enurfala, bonded to the urgal Yarbog.

Also waiting for Eragon were Murtagh; Alanna and the dwarf Ivaldn. The dwarf was stocky and short; the norm for his race. His was roughly half of Eragon's height, and had thick black hair. A bushy beard covered his face, running halfway down his chest. He had a large, hooked nose which gave him the fierce appearance of a bird of prey. He wore plate armour made of Brightsteel; the polished metal was grey to match his dragons colour, and slightly muddied from his sparring with Yarbog, and he was leaning on a large grey-headed axe which had a dull looking gem set into the end of its handle.

Yarbog and Murtagh also wore their own sets of Brightsteel armour, coloured for their dragons. Zar'roc was on Murtagh's left hip, whilst Yarbog's own Riders sword; a massive two-handed affair, was strapped to his back. The urgal himself was huge, taller than all present, yet not large enough to be called a kull. He had large, curving yellow horns on top of his head, which was protected by a shaped plate of Brightsteel.

Like Eragon, Alanna was not outfitted for battle, but still had a teal coloured Riders sword on her left hip. She wore a blue tunic over a soft white shirt made of some seamless elvish fabric Eragon could not recognise. Her trousers and boots were black.

Eragon was hit with a flurry of questions when he reached them; all three of his apprentices seemingly confused about where he had run to and why. He silenced them by holding up his right hand.

"We must investigate the site of the murders. It is imperative that we move swiftly; if we are lucky, the egg-thief will not have gotten far. Murtagh; can you and Thorn lead us to the nest?"

"Of course, Brother. We know the way."

"Good. Yarbog and Enufala; you are with us. Alanna, Ivaldn; call your dragons back to The Roost and await our return."

"Yes, Ebrithil." All three chorused.

After retrieving her saddle and mounting Saphira, the pair launched skywards and followed Thorn's progress east, with Enurfala following not far behind.

The terrain far beneath them was a sea of grassy plains, stretching further than the eye could see in nearly all directions. North of them, however, the land became uneven and hilly, forming into a range of small mountains in which the wild dragons made their homes.

The flight to reach the nest of the murdered dragon pair was nearly an hour, during which Eragon quizzed the Eldurnari on what they could guess of the plans of their unknown enemy. Eventually Thorn descended into the foothills of one of the mountains, and the metallic scent of blood filled Eragon's nostrils.

Saphira landed heavily outside the entrance of a large cave. A few yards away, Murtagh dismounted from Thorn's back. When Yarbog arrived a moment later, he gave a heavy grunt and spoke loudly.

"There was a fearsome battle here; I smelt the blood from a mile away."

Eragon and Murtagh said nothing in reply as the three Riders move towards the cave entrance, their dragons following closely behind them. Ten feet in, Eragon noticed blood sprayed on the walls. With a muttered 'Garjzla' the cave was illuminated by a bright blue light. What Eragon saw before him shocked him to his core.

Fighting the urge to gag, Eragon continued further into the cave. The walls had literally been _painted _with the blood of the murdered dragons. Purple in the light of Eragon's blue magic, the patches glistened and dripped, revealing strange, runic writings in a language Eragon had never seen before. Unnatural shadows surrounded these runes, making them glow with a malicious light. Despite not knowing the language of their origin, Eragon felt that they could only be descriptions of madness and death.

Suddenly wary of traps and enchantments, Eragon halted their progress. He spoke rapidly in the ancient language; spells to detect magical interference. All he felt was the strange spell which had been cast on the bloodied walls. Eragon looked towards the entrance of the cave. The opening seemed like the maw of some great beast, and he felt as though it would close at any moment, engorging them in darkness.

Only after hearing Saphira's pained whimpering did Eragon notice what he had missed while he was preoccupied with the walls of the cave. Another twenty feet in lay the corpses of the dragons themselves.

"You were wrong, Yarbog," he whispered. "This wasn't a battle. It was a slaughter."

The dragons were shifting nervously, and Eragon knew that for the first time they were feeling the cold fear which had plagued him for weeks. The corpses of the murdered dragons were not true bodies. Instead, there were large chunks of bloody flesh strewn about as though a giant child had forgotten to put away his toys. Eragon couldn't even make out any scales on them, so badly had they been dismembered.

'_What a terrible fate', _said Saphira. '_Sorrow breeds here.'_

"Drajl!" cussed Yarbog. "This place is cursed." He was making odd signings in the air, as though to ward off evil spirits.

"There is nothing to find here, Eragon." Murtagh was facing him, his face pale in the blue werelight.

"If only it hadn't rained; there might have been tracks outside or some other sign of who the murderers were." Eragon was frustrated now; this expedition had yielded nothing.

"Powerful magic, Ebrithil", said Yarbog.

Eragon looked towards him quizzically for a moment, before registering what his apprentice was suggesting. The rain had been magical. The thief had used it to hide his escape. He turned towards Murtagh.

"Of course! The rain started so suddenly, and stopped almost immediately after arrived with the news of what you found."

Murtagh stroked his chin with a gauntleted hand. "The amount of energy such a thing would require, though... Is it possible?"

'_With our aid', _Cumaroth told Eragon, '_You could easily accomplish such a feat.'_

"It's possible", Eragon said, "But it means that our enemy must be incredibly powerful with magic."

A realisation seemed to dawn on Murtagh, his eyes widening. "This means the murderer must be on foot! Why else use the rain. The bodies are fresh; that means it has only been a few hours, so they cannot have travelled far."

"We might have caught them", said Yarbog, "If only we knew which direction they fled in."

Somehow, Eragon was certain. "West", he said, "They are going towards Alagaesia."

Murtagh took his word for it. "Then we must make haste." He led them out of the cave in a run. Within minutes, they were back in the air, scanning the land for any sign of travellers.

Eragon opened his mind to world, scanning for any unknown presences ahead of them. Meanwhile, Thorn and Enurfala spread out to cover more ground. For the next two hours, they continued their search. Eragon had almost given up hope when he felt the touch of a well guarded mind.

'_Look',_ said Saphira.

Below them was a four legged figure loping across the grassy plains. At first Eragon though it was one of the large predatory cats which inhabited the area, but as Saphira descended towards it he realised it was a werecat.

As Saphira landed in front of it, Eragon examined the werecat's appearance. It's body was sleek and muscled, covered in a layer of brown fur which had a shiny quality despite the sun still being hidden behind grey clouds. Yellow eyes examined Eragon and Saphira warily as it stopped in its path a few yards away from them. The werecat was too large to mistake for a normal cat, and too small to be taken for a large predator, but from a distance Eragon supposed it might be hard to make that distinction.

"Ho, friend werecat!" he called out. "A moment of your time, if you please."

The werecat's tail twitched. It yawned and stretched in a most catlike fashion, showing rows of sharp, pointed teeth. Then it lay down in the grass.

'_Very well, Rider. What is it you want?'_ He spoke in a male voice.

'_There was a terrible crime committed not far from here; two dragons were murdered, their eggs stolen from their nest. Might you perchance know anything about it?'_

'_Are you accusing me of something, boy? As though a werecat could defeat two adult dragons?'_

'_I never mentioned their size, friend.' _Eragon placed his left hand on Brisingr's pommel.

The cat hissed, revealing pointed teeth once more. Its eyes were an angry red now.

'_Fool', _he spat into Eragon's mind. _'Do not seek to test me. You know well that you just told me there were eggs stolen. Was I to assume that hatchlings are mating now?'_

'_Apologies, friend. If you were guilty, then such a trick might have flustered you into revealing yourself.'_

'_Do not presume to call me friend, _boy. _ I do not befriend those who come with hundreds of dragons at their backs to accuse me of murder so candidly as you have just done.' _The werecat's tail twitched nervously once more, and Eragon realised his confrontational demeanour was due to the fact that he sensed Eragon's contact with the Eldurnari.

Should Eragon wish to, the werecat knew he could easily overcome his mental defences. Eragon took in the werecat's darting red eyes and twitching tail once more, noticing that his whole body was tense. This was not a creature trying to hide guilt, but a cornered animal lashing out in self defence.

Eragon sighed. '_I see you are not the one we seek, werecat, and for my brusque manner I must apologise; these past few hours have been trying for me. Before we go, perhaps you would be so kind as to grace us with your name, in case we meet again.'_

An odd, throaty growl came from the werecat's throat, and Eragon realised that he was laughing. A derisive laughter. _'I have many names, Rider, as do all sentient beings, but you may know me as Wex. I have no doubt whatsoever that regardless of what may come, you and I will see each other again.'_

His words had an air of prophecy about them. Even before he had finished speaking, Wex bounded past Saphira, long limbs stretching and red eyes glowing with a fierce pride known only to cats. Saphira watched after him for a long moment before launching herself into the air.

'_A strange creature,' _she said, '_even for a werecat.'_

'_Did you speak to him?'_

'_No. He would not open his mind to me.'_

'_It was strange. Alien; more so than the other werecats I have spoken to. There was a sense of discordance within him; the music of his mind had a haunting, desperate feel to it. And regardless of whether he had anything to do with the dragons, he was certainly hiding something of himself.'_

Glaedr's voice sounded within his mind. _'He had a disliking for Dragon Riders, I suspect. And he was more than a little cautious of the Eldurnari. Besides; werecats are secretive creatures. But enough of this. We are unlikely to find the egg-thief now, with dark approaching. The bodies of the fallen must be cremated, and then we must make our plans.'_

'_But what can we do, Old One? We know nothing of those whom we seek.'_

'_It will be a waiting game, I fear. Inform the monarchs of Alagaesia as to what has happened here, and scry the land closely. In time, rumours will surface in regards to the missing eggs; such things cannot go unnoticed within the world. Wait a week or two, Eragon. If we still have nothing, then we will act blindly, but remember that knowledge is power in this game; if we move our pieces without knowing their positions on the board, it is our enemies who will have the advantage.'_

They lapsed into silence for a long while after Glaedr finished speaking, and Eragon was filled with morbid thoughts. The events of the day, from Hector's execution to the vile murder of the dragons, forced him to consider the possibility of his own death, which he had not done since during the war against Galbatorix. Eventually he decided to question the Eldurnari on the subject, unable to contain himself any longer.

'_Old Ones... will you tell me... what is it like to die?'_

The pause before Glaedr answered was long and heavy. _'The worst part about death, Eragon... It is not the pain of death, for that is no greater than any significant wound. For me, it was the loss of awareness, the loss of sight. You feel the pain, and know in your heart that death approaches, but it is as your vision fades to black that you truly feel fear. It is a terrible emotion, fear, and it occurs due to a lack of knowing, a loss of understanding. As the world around you begins to darken you realise that you know nothing about what truly lies beyond this life, nothing about what lies in that great dark abyss, and it is that lack of understanding which breeds fear within us, it is why all living creatures know the fear of death... We will not speak of this again, Shadeslayer. It is important to keep our spirits high, even in the face of such loss. Thinking on such matters will do aught but add to the parasite that eats away at your mind. There will be time enough for such thoughts when you face the endless void. Forget your fear, for now. You have no need of it.'_

They remained silent for the rest of the homeward journey, each of them apprehensive for the future, and consumed by their dark memories of the past day.

**A/N: thanks for reading, hope you review as well.**

**Concerning the execution: The daughter of the village elder claims to have been raped by a lowly farmhand. The people are enraged on behalf of their elder, and go baying for blood. Eragon is denied the right to testify on Hector's behalf with his mental examination because he is known to be friendly towards Hector. Eragon could have done this anyway, and determined whether Hector was guilty or innocent for himself.**

**However, there are several problems with this course of action. 1) Eragon gave the villagers the right to govern themselves, so it is not his place to interfere, and doing so would sour his relationship with them. 2) Even if Eragon declared Hector innocent and refused to kill him, the villagers would not have believed him and would likely have killed Hector anyway, turning the whole situation into a disaster for the Riders relationship with the people. If Eragon wanted to save Hector then, he would likely have had to injure/kill other villagers to do so.**

**For all of these reasons, Eragon chose the best option (in my opinion) as it allowed him to give Hector a clean death and keep the Riders high in the esteem of the locals. Now, if Eragon is in a position where he can actually make a difference, the villagers will listen to him.**

**Definitely a hard choice to make, but Eragon did what he thought was right. He didn't examine Hectors mind for his own personal peace of mind because if Hector had truly been innocent, he probably would not have been able to bring himself to kill him.**

**Feel free to disagree with me; I am anxious to hear your thoughts.**


	4. Iormungr

**A/N: Here it is, as promised. Next one will be Eragon POV.**

**Out of curiosity, could someone tell me the difference between a hit and a visitor? I think I know, but I want to make sure. (I found all of the cool graph things in my login)**

**I'm kinda iffy about this chapter; I felt I might have overdone some of the stuff and made Garrow come of as an idiot and a perv. I really just wanted to show that he is a teenage boy and has a lot to learn. Oh well, whats done is done.**

**Big thanks to everyone who reviewed,special shout out to the anonymous dude who verbally raped Eragon's character; good to see you have your opinion and are willing to share. I have to agree; Eragon can be a douche sometimes. Referring responsibility for his actions on to others is something he did very well in the books. :)**

Garrow held his unadorned sword in both hands, sweating profusely as he stood across from Arya at the sparring grounds in Ellesmera. The elf stood completely composed, Tamerlein held in her left hand on an angle pointing towards the soft grass of the forest floor. She wore her black leather outfit, as she always did while training, and had a black headband which held her ebony tresses from her face. Her eyes were closed.

In contrast to her calm, composed demeanour, Garrow was breathing heavily, feeling as though he had run mile after mile, his body flushed with exertion despite the cool morning air. He had discarded his white linen shirt and stood bare to the waist, muscular chest heaving. He had never been so frustrated in his entire life.

Since his eighth birthday, when his father had decided he was old enough to hold a sword, he had trained for hours every day. Swordplay had quickly become his passion, and none within Palancar could claim to be his equal on the field. Ten long years of training had earned him the right to be considered near enough a blademaster among his own kind, yet despite all of his effort, all of his formidable technique, despite every trick he could muster, he could not so much as make Arya sweat, let alone mark her in any way. Garrow had always felt as though a duel was similar to a dance, with the skill of the combatants serving to either create a humiliating, fumble-footed routine or a graceful display of agility and strength. At the moment, Garrow felt as though he was a drunkard stumbling through the steps of a tavern jig, while Arya was effortlessly gliding her way through a courtly waltz. He was completely outclassed by her, and being made to look a fool to boot.

This was not their first bout of the morning. Several times Garrow had been beaten effortlessly, the elf dismantling his attacks in an almost absentminded fashion before overwhelming him with a series of blows so fast he almost could not react, and so strong his knees felt they would buckle beneath him. It was impossible to win; Arya's natural strength and speed made her so far above him that no matter what he came up with, he would never be able to conquer her. Thus his frustration.

If Garrow did not have the strength or stamina to defeat any elf alive in combat, how would he be able to serve the Riders? In matters of physical strength, Humans were the weakest race in Alagaesia. Garrow was going to be the most useless of the Riders. He had thought himself so worthy of the elegant hand-and-a-half sword given to him by his family as a parting gift, but now he knew how weak he truly was.

Adding to his hurt was the fact that the golden dragon, who he had taken to calling 'Brother' because he still refused to choose a name for himself, was excelling in his own training. Firnen had claimed that Garrow's Brother had the most natural flying ability of all the dragons he had trained. Now three months old, he was large enough for Garrow to sit astride as he flew above the forests of Du Weldenvarden. Their training in aerial combat had started only a week before.

Garrow's mind was brought to the present when Arya opened her eyes, the emerald green flashing dangerously as she leapt towards him, covering the not inconsiderable distance between them with a single bound. Garrow's break was over. Arya feinted towards Garrow's right shoulder with Tamerlein, before abruptly changing directions and whipping the green blade towards his exposed left flank. With both hands holding his sword, Garrow barely brought up his blade in time to parry the attack. The power behind Arya's attack made both of his arms go jarringly numb.

Garrow's frustration boiled over into unadulterated rage. How dare these elves all act as though they were so superior to him, looking down their noses at him with their thrice damned elvish courtesies and their ridiculous pointy ears? He would not be treated in such a fashion; the son of Roran Stronghammer would _not_ be humiliated in this way. Garrow harnessed his anger, using it to wash away the aches and pains of his neglected body, ignoring the numerous welts that covered his torso and back, and forming a cold, implacable determination deep within him, flooding his body like ice-water, searing his veins with a cold fire. As Arya disengaged from him, Garrow followed, methodically attacking with every technique he could think of, recklessly pushing his endurance to its limit.

What followed was glorious. Garrow's sword moved like lightning, striking with the speed of a desert snake, the strength of a dragon. Garrow danced a wondrous dance, and everywhere he stepped, each time his blade lanced out to strike at her, Arya matched him. The elf was beautiful in combat, coming alive like she did at no other time; emerald eyes glowing fiercely with the joy of battle, feet shifting across the grassy surface of the forest with feline grace, Tamerlein twirling through the air to meet with its opposite, stopping Garrow's attacks at every juncture.

On and on they danced, and it was magnificent, but in the end Garrow knew that no matter how determined he was, no matter the strength of his will, Arya would not be denied. Garrow's sword was knocked from his weary hands, and his legs cut out from under him by Arya's spinning kick. Her left knee on his chest forced his back into the ground, and Tamerlein's tip was at his throat as she kept herself stable with her right hand on the ground.

"Yield!' gasped Garrow, his lungs straining to fill with air.

Arya rose and sheathed Tamerlein before offering her right hand to pull Garrow to his feet. His abused muscles shook with spasms of pain and he bent over, hands on his knees as he took in great gulps of cold morning air.

"You should not push yourself so hard, Garrow", Arya chided him, her brow furrowed in concern. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and Garrow felt a stream of energy being siphoned into him, allowing him to relax in relief.

"I am not good enough, Ebrithil. I must be better", he said, "Or I will shame my family."

Arya sighed. "Garrow, these things come in time. There is a reason that I am the teacher, and you the student. If you were able to defeat me in combat, you would not truly be my apprentice."

"It isn't just you; every single elf living in this city, including the five year old child, could easily overpower me. I am too weak, too slow... too human." Garrow stood up to his full height, and retrieved his shirt from where he had discarded it.

"Yes. You are human, and you share the impatience that characterises the members of your race. Wait a few years, Garrow, and your bond will make you strong and fast as any elf. Then, I have no doubt you will soon become the equal of our greatest warriors. There is nothing wrong with your swordplay; indeed your technique is exemplary. All you need is a little patience." Her soft, musical voice was soothing, and Garrow found his anger melting away as he considered the truth of her words.

"That is enough for today", she continued. "You have pushed yourself too hard. Come; since we have spare time, I will show you some more of Ellesmera." With that, she strode away, not bothering to look to see that he was following her.

Garrow hurriedly sheathed his sword on his after removing the blocking spell on it, glad that he had learned enough magic to save himself hours of sharpening the blade. He jogged to catch up to Arya and walked beside her as they left the training grounds and entered the city. Garrow was still amazed every time he saw the way that trees had been twisted and shaped to make the elves homes; the beauty and tranquillity of Ellesmera left him feeling completely at peace.

As they made their way down the leafy streets of the pinewood city, Arya pointed out various interesting buildings and landmarks, quietly explaining to him how they had been made and what they were named. Garrow only half listened; he was far more interested in admiring the Queen's form. It was not that he was particularly attracted to her, but he would have to not be human to be able to ignore her beauty. If she was going to wear an outfit which left so little to the imagination, reasoned Garrow, she could hardly blame him for looking.

The first time she had caught him, a week after he began his training, she had sternly and bluntly told him that there would be no romantic involvement between him. After a series of fumbling and embarrassing apologies, he had made her understand that he did not desire her in that way, only found her form pleasing to look at. She had laughed, the musical sound sending tingles up and down his spine, and told him that she had forgotten who he was for a moment. Garrow had been thoroughly confused.

From that point onward, Garrow's relationship with his teacher had been ideal. When not mired in the seriousness of his tutelage, Arya treated him fondly, almost as though he was a favoured nephew. She was inscrutable most of the time, and did not show much emotion in public, but Garrow had been glad to discover that she was not the cold, indifferent warrior described by his father. After a while, Garrow had thought back on his conversation with his father and realised that part of Arya's fondness towards him must have come because he reminded her of Eragon. Her odd looks and comments had suddenly made an infinite amount more sense.

Garrow belatedly noticed that Arya had stopped speaking and was looking at him with a raised eyebrow. He felt a flush of heat rise in his face and diverted his eyes from her.

"I wonder", she mused, "Have I spilled something on my chest...? Well?"

"No, Ebrithil." If it was possible, Garrow suspected his face was even redder than it had been. He chanced a glance at her, and saw that Arya did not seem particularly pleased.

She sighed. "I know you are young, Garrow, and have only recently come into your... physical maturity, but it would be prudent for you to exercise some self control. You are almost as bad as your uncle was during his stay in Ellesmera."

"I am sorry, Ebrithil. It won't happen again, I promise."

"Really? I suspect it might, despite your promises. It is good to aspire to be like Eragon, Garrow; he certainly has many admirable qualities, but you should not want to be like him in every way."

"I... yes, Ebrithil." Garrow was sincere in his apology, really he was, but Nolfavrell had once told him it was a crime not to admire a beautiful woman, and Arya was definitely the loveliest creature he had yet seen in his short life.

Arya said no more on the matter, obviously deciding she had made him uncomfortable enough. They walked in silence for a while, before Arya turned from the main street and lead Garrow down a narrow path to a large, overgrown clearing.

An abandoned elvish abode had been grown into a nearby tree, and in the centre of the clearing was a structure which Garrow quickly identified as a forge. It was so overtaken by the forest that he suspected it had lain unused for decades.

Garrow opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated, unsure of whether Arya was still annoyed with him. He decided it was best to hold his tongue.

Arya's lip curled upward as she sat on a bench outside the abandoned house. "I can see the question which is ready to explode out of you, Garrow. It may not be good for your health if you do not ask it."

"... Where are we, Ebrithil?"

Arya made a _tsk _sound and wagged a finger at him. "You should be more specific about what you are asking, Garrow. The better question would have been 'who lived at this place?' or 'why have you brought me here?'"

"What does the vagueness of my question have to do with anything?"

She made an approving noise. "That was slightly better, but still a very sloppy question. To answer it; when you are interrogating a suspect or simply seeking information, it is better to be specific. I could have answered your first question with a dozen different half truths, all of which would have told you nothing. This is especially important when speaking in the ancient language; how can you learn the truth when the question was so vague that I could say almost anything at all in response?"

"Why teach me such a trivial thing?"

"Trivial? Garrow, this is crucial, especially when dealing with my kind. The lesson is about more than simply asking questions, it is about every interaction you will ever have. You must learn that how you interpret what is said is almost more important than the words themselves. Subtle meaning can be inferred from the _way_ that people talk; elves especially are adept at the art of saying one thing and meaning something entirely different."

"I am confused. How did our conversation arrive here?" Garrow was scratching the back of his head.

"Yet another pointless question! You are exactly like your uncle in this; so many useless questions it could drive someone insane." Arya threw her hands in the air in exasperation. She took a long breath before continuing. "I see I am not making my point clear enough to you. We will continue this later, but suffice to say that you need to learn the art of conversation; growing up amongst illiterate farmers has not done you well."

Her last comment annoyed him. "I speak my own language well enough, thank you."

"Indeed?" said Arya sourly. "You do seem to know plenty of words, of that I have no doubt."

Garrow had a sneaking suspicion that she was mocking him. He narrowed his eyes at her, and then remembered his original reason for breaking the silence between them.

"Right... So who lived here, then?"

A wry smile touched Arya's lips. "This was the home of Rhunon, the Riders smith. She forged every Rider sword there ever was."

"Where did she go?"

"Eragon discovered several deposits of a special metal called Brightsteel in a series of craters to the south of the Roost. He asked her to take up her former position within the Order and forge Brightsteel armour for the new Riders."

A part of Arya's explanation stuck out to Garrow. _Every Riders sword, _he thought. _Rhunon must be ancient. Will I live that long?_

Garrow sighed in defeat before asking, "Why did you bring me here?"

Arya's smile grew wider, and she gave him a pointed look before speaking. "I often come here to be by myself. It is a peaceful place. I thought it would be the perfect clearing to begin your meditation in."

"Meditation?"

"Yes. Now that you have learned to reach out to others with your mind, it is important that you learn how to use this ability. You will sit in this clearing each day and watch over the denizens of the forest. Then you will tell me all you have learned."

"How long will I stay?"

Arya pursed her lips as she considered his question. "Until you have decided that there is nothing more of worth to learn", she said. "But you can start tomorrow. We must break our fast; today we will be practicing magic." With that, she stood and began leading Garrow back towards Ellesmera.

They walked in a silence which was much more companionable and far less awkward than it had been on their trip to the forge. Eventually, Garrow decided to strike up conversation.

"Ebrithil, I wanted to ask you about your role as Queen. It seems much different from the way my father rules in Palancar. Your cousin, Niduen, seems to tend to most matters of state. Why is that?"

Arya idly tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her pointed ear. "Why, indeed? It seems to me that you could answer that for yourself, if you took the time to think about it. I have a duty to train you, and that duty clashes with my obligations as Queen. So, while I train you, Niduen is kind enough to lighten my burden by acting as Regnant."

"She seems to be very used to it, as though she has been doing it longer than I have been here", commented Garrow.

Arya gave him a sharp, calculating look, followed by a nod of approval. "You noticed, did you? I am impressed. Niduen has been one of my foremost advisors and friends since I first took the crown. She performed a similar role while I trained the other Riders."

Garrow considered his words carefully; sure he had discovered something of Arya's personality. "It is almost as though, should you wish to step down, she could be Queen in your place."

Arya narrowed her eyes at him, and gave Garrow a look of sharp rebuke. "Best to keep comments like that to yourself; elves do not take kindly to outsiders interfering in our politics, and your statement could be seen as such."

Her message could not have been clearer: _stay out of my business._

Having realised his mistake, Garrow quickly tried to steer the conversation towards safer waters.

"I have also been wondering", he said, "If you would tell me about Eragon and Saphira. I have heard all of the stories about them, and my father told me about how Eragon was as a child, but I know little of who they are now."

"Eragon was... When I first met him, he was younger than you are now. He had an inquisitive nature, similar to yours, and was often rash and headstrong in his decisions. Having said that, there has always been an innate goodness in him; he will do what he believes is right, regardless of what others might tell him. He was determined; a quality which, while I admired it, served to frustrate me endlessly while he stayed here in Ellesmera.  
>"For all his childish behaviour in those first few months, though, he matured very quickly into a capable and wise leader. Even when Galbatorix was overthrown, he was younger than you, yet to compare the two of you would have made him seem ancient in his years. No offense." Arya's expression was wistful, as though she longed for a different time, a different place.<p>

"None taken", replied Garrow. "You were close to him, then. You knew each other well?"

Arya smiled. "I would hazard a guess that, apart from Saphira, I know him better than anyone, including your father." She said this in a matter-of-fact tone, without a hint of boasting, which made Garrow suspect that it was almost an understatement.

"Did you... Were the two of you...?"

"Lovers? No, we were not lovers, just friends." Her voice sounded odd, and Garrow could not tell whether she was amused or regretful.

"Ah... And Saphira? What can you tell me about her?"

"What do you know already?" quizzed Arya.

"Nothing", confessed Garrow.

Arya nodded, and then proceeded to speak at length about the blue scaled dragon. Garrow learned of her fierce personality, her beauty, and her role within the war against Galbatorix. Arya also told him of Saphira's heritage as the daughter of a wild dragon and a bonded one. This gave Garrow an idea, and he determined to try one last time to get his Brother to choose a name.

Eventually, they stopped outside Tialdari Hall.

"Here we are", said Arya. "Come, we have a busy day ahead."

Later, Garrow lay exhausted on the soft bed within the treehouse which housed the Riders who stayed in Ellesmera. He exchanged memories of his lessons with his Brother, as they always did at the end of the day. The golden scaled dragon was lying in the open space upstairs of Garrow's rooms.

'_I heard a name you might like today, Brother', _said Garrow.

'_Indeed', _replied the dragon. _'What is it?'_

'_It is Iormungr.'_

'_Iormungr... It has a nice sound to it; fierce, as a dragon's name should be. Tell me, Brother, who was this Iormungr?'_

Garrow considered his words carefully; this was the first name the dragon had shown even a slight interest in. '_Iormungr was a bonded dragon. He mated with the wild dragon Vervada, and sired Saphira Bjartskular on her.'_ Garrow crossed his fingers.

'_Saphira... This Iormungr must have been a great dragon indeed, to sire the mother of our race', _mused the dragon.

'_Do you like it?'_

There was a pause for a moment, before his Brother replied. _'Yes', _he said.

Garrow sat up straight on his bed. _'You will take it?' _he asked hopefully.

'_...Yes. I am Iormungr.' _The sound of the dragon's roar shook the entire tree house, and Garrow fell back, his laughter rolling forth at Iormungr's theatrical display.

_Now, _he thought, _we truly are dragon and Rider._

**Reviews are appreciated.**

**Next chap will take longer than this one, seeing as this was already written when I posted chapter 3.**

**Cya laters, then.**


End file.
